


Searching For That Special Someone

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Sexual Description, Chance Meetings, France (Country), Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, M/M, Pre-Slash, isaac totally stalked chris all the way to france ok, there may be another chapter coming, where they have wonderful sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Chris hadn't have taken Isaac with him, after Allison's death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching For That Special Someone

He lives alone.

He does this because it is what he knows. He is no longer grieving, though he does drink too much, and he still dreams of his little girl and imagines how old she’d be now, what she’d be doing, what college she would be at. He is better. He is strong, hunting down killers and making peace with werewolves all over the world. France. Australia. England. Thailand. China. Even New Zealand. He knows he’s running, but he’s okay. He’s doing good things, like she would’ve wanted.

For several months, he’d felt guilty about leaving so quickly. Isaac had needed him, that much Chris had been certain of, but he hadn’t been able to take care of him. He hadn’t had the strength to be the father that Isaac had never had, hadn’t had the courage to look upon him as his child when he’d just lost his only daughter.

So he ran.

Now, he’s in France. It’s a peaceful place, mostly, and the local werewolf packs all accept and respect him. There’s a treaty between werewolves and hunters here that is unlike anything anywhere else in the world; Chris figures it makes sense. The city of love _would_ be the place to do the impossible.

He has an apartment, which is small like all Paris apartments are, and he can look out his small window to the Eiffel Tower, framed like the pictures that are sold on every street corner. There’s something indescribably lonely about living in a tourist destination. He’s surrounded by couples at the height of love. It’s a dirty place, which reassures him somewhat, but it’s so full of declarations of undying devotion that he feels sick whenever he sees a pair kissing, or someone down on their knee before the love of their life.

He knows he should leave before it drives him insane.

He goes down to the local restaurants and bars, finds the cafes and tiny shops that have been owned by generations of families, eats alone, turns down every young and beautiful man and woman that approaches him. And they do. With their sensuous tongues, their luxurious faces, their dark skin and their white skin and their endless cultural variety. He is tempted by all of them, but can’t bring himself to let anyone that close. Occasionally, he goes to a gay bar, finds someone who won’t need to look him in the eye to be satisfied, and fucks them from behind. It’s as close as he can get to a relationship.

This morning, wandering through a market, he has a gun strapped to his side. He has a licence, of course. But not for what he’s got hidden in his apartment.

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking at a stall’s goods- bread, crisp and fresh; no one does bread like the French- when he sees him.

At first, his eyes aren’t drawn by recognition. They’re drawn by attractiveness.

The young man is standing alone, watching a street artist draw a grinning couple. He’s wearing a leather jacket, too hot for the comfortable morning warmth, and black glasses. He’s got curly hair, light blonde and brown, a wavy lock hanging down over his forehead. He stands with one hip cocked, like a model, and Chris looks him up and down, wishing he’d met this kid in a gay bar. Then he’d have the confidence to touch him. He looks back at the bread, thinking. Surely, it wouldn’t do much harm to walk up and introduce himself, take this gorgeous stranger out for coffee, maybe take him to a hotel, pull off those clothes and kiss his tantalisingly pale skin. He could be soft. Gentle. He wouldn’t need to make him face the other way.

Summoning every dying piece of courage he has left when it comes to affection, he approaches the young man. It’s only when the stranger turns that Chris stops, stunned, his mind going blank for a moment as he realises who he’s looking at.

Isaac.

They stare at each other for a long, awful moment, and then Isaac reaches up and takes his glasses off. His eyes are still the same vibrant blue that has haunted Chris’ dreams all these years.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the young man says, and there’s affection in his eyes, a lopsided smirk on his lips, “Mr Argent.”


End file.
